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"Complete with pointy tail?" she asked wryly.
"You have a twisted mind, PFC Sanders."
The better to explore with, I added mentally. I hoped this situation
wasn't like those science fiction stories where the terrifying menaces are
taken telepathically from the greatest fears of the human beings involved.
My worst fears couldn't be this corny!
Arlene found a switch that opened a hidden room; we went with the flow.
Entering the chamber, we marveled at how different it was from what we'd
seen before. The entire room was constructed of that black, oily, ulcerat-
ing wood. There was one object in the room, placed at dead center: a bas
relief of a demonic monster more horrible, or more ridiculous, than any we'd
fought. Every physical attribute of the thing was exaggerated so that it
almost seemed to be a cartoon. The largest protuberance of all was its
penis, sticking out at a 45-degree angle.
"They've got to be kidding," said Arlene.
"I hate to bring it up, but that's probably another switch," I
suggested.
"I've handled worse," she admitted.
24
As she flipped the switch, we heard familiar heavy, grinding sounds
outside in the marble chamber. Being nearer the door, I took a look-see. I
wasn't the least bit surprised to see a set of stairs rising up in the
marble room leading straight up to one of the walls of fire. Arlene joined
me in pondering this new development. Neither of us seemed to be in a great
hurry to run up those stairs.
"Do you feel fireproof?" she asked me.
"I left my asbestos pajamas back on Earth."
"Maybe there's an opening we can't see from down here."
"We can only dream," I sighed. I went first. She was close behind,
though. As soon as it became too hot, I had every intention of stopping. I
didn't feel any heat at all.
Arlene noticed as well. "This isn't a bit like Campfire Girls," she
said. "By now, all the marshmallows in my pocket should be screaming out:
'Put me on a stick!'"
"You have marshmallows?"
"No."
"I don't think it's a real flame. Wait here, Arlene. If I catch on fire
or die of heat stroke, you'll know there was something wrong with my
theory." Another ten steps up the stairs convinced me that I was definitely
on to something. Ten more steps and I was becoming certain. I still wasn't
hot as I walked right up to the curtain of seething flame and very slowly
put my hand out.
The hand went right through the fire, disappearing from view without
causing Yours Truly the least discom- fort. I didn't even get a blister.
"Arlene," I called out, "the fire is an illusion. Come on up."
I walked right through, then turned around where the fire should be ...
and there was nothing there but the welcome sight of Arlene coming up the
stairs. "Arlene, can you see me?" I asked.
"No," she answered, staring right at me. "You've disappeared behind the
fire."
"For my next illusion," I announced with my best stage magician's
voice, and stepped back through where the curtain had to be, "I pull
something cool out of my hat."
"Like a beer?" she asked, taking the last steps two at a time so we
stood on the same level.
"No beer, but I do have a surprise." She was curious, and I bent from
the waist, gesturing through the curtain. She preceded me to the big
surprise.
"Oh, no," she said, "not another teleporter."
We were both pretty worn-down by this point, but a new teleporter meant
we had to make a decision. What we needed was a map to show us the location
of all the frying pans and fires. "So should we bother with this one or
not?"
She sighed. "We'd better try it, Fly. We've got to find a way off this
moon, and this is pretty carefully hidden away. Let's give it a shot, hon."
"Who's first this time?" I asked.
She hooked her arm in mine. "Let's do it together again."
Weapons out, we stepped aboard. With a flash of light, we zapped to a
huge room shaped like the spokes of a wagon wheel.
Six hell-princes surrounded us.
Six monstrous mouths opened.
Six monstrous throats emitted guttural screams.
Twelve angry, red eyes burned at us in the dim light.
The hell-princes were not the only ones screaming. Arlene and I
screamed, too. This was a sight to make anyone howl at the moon. As the
green fireballs began exploding all around us, we simply lost it--running
around like chickens with their legs cut off, shooting wildly. There was
nowhere to run, but we sure as hell tried!
"Duck!" we shouted at each other at about the same time. The balls of
energy made fireworks over our heads. Our gunfire was nothing more than a
quiet popping in that chaos, mild raindrops, but we kept firing, me with my
shotgun and Arlene with her AB-10.
I found a door by pure, random chance. Praying for a miracle, I
hollered for Arlene and yanked the door open . . . and now I was surrounded
by a dozen floating pumpkins! Frying pans and fires--definitely frying pans
and pumpkins.
Arlene screamed something from the chamber with the hell-princes, but I
couldn't hear her over my own screaming. This situation was fast becoming
unaccepta- ble.
There were too many pumpkins even to think about shooting; death, doom,
and destruction from all direc- tions! I ran as fast as I could . . . right
back into the room with the hell-princes.
I wasn't thinking very clearly, but Arlene still had her head screwed
on. Her hand snaked out and grabbed me. She'd stepped inside another of the
spoke-chambers and now hauled me inside with her. I imagined wall-to-wall
demons waiting for us, zombies stacked like cordwood to the ceiling, imp
tartare .. . but inside, for the moment, was nothing but Arlene and Yours
Truly.
She held a finger against her lips; I braced myself for the Bad Guys to
come after us and imagined the absolute worst. A tidal wave of sound crashed
on us--roaring, screaming, crashing. But all that came through that doorway
was sound. The pumpkins and the hell-princes collided in a torrent of blood
and vengeance. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]